Forked flames lick like tongues,
a moment of intimacy before incineration.
Regeneration. Bodies do not get off
that easily, reform in flawless figure, walk
two steps forward before falling
three steps back into engulfing laughter
of volcanic pits. Walls rumble, emit
a smoky hiss, a form of foreplay, a tease
before the next wave rises to reduce
radiant skin to charcoal and ash.
A.J. Huffman’s poetry, fiction, haiku, and photography have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com
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